


besides honor, a compromise

by BabaTunji



Series: an arrangement [1]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cousin Incest, King Killmonger, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements, This Is Not A Coercive Band-aid, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 13:57:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14113839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabaTunji/pseuds/BabaTunji
Summary: T'Challa yields because he doesn’t want Erik to kill Zuri, so Erik has T'Challa marry him. This is their wedding night. Gift for AgentMal. Part of T'Cherik Wishlist





	besides honor, a compromise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AgentMal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentMal/gifts).



> Heed the warnings, this is strongly non-consensual. Purely indulgent, and would not have been possible without the amazing insincerely (i love you!!!) and AgentMal (you da realest lol) 
> 
> Canon divergence (AU) featuring wedding night and top!Erik for da homies.  
> If I should add a tag please tell me.

“N'Jadaka, son of N’Jobu.”

Those words out of T’Challa’s mouth spell the beginning of the end for his time as king. The pandemonium following his acknowledgement does not quiet after T’Challa tells the truth about what had really happened to N’Jobu. Nor after his cousin, eyes hard, smile vindictive, challenges him for the throne.

In another world, T’Challa refuses his cousin’s challenge. In another world, T’Challa listens to the council member who calls for time to prepare for a proper challenge. That they wait for the next challenge day. In this world, T’Challa accepts his cousin’s challenge. In this world, T’Challa chooses Zuri’s life over his claim to a throne he’s held for a scant few days. In this world, T’Challa yields.

-:-

T’Challa watches Zuri announce his cousin as king, blood running down his thigh. He feels only dread when the man approaches him, a dark smile in place. Shuri, crouched beside where he’s collapsed, moves as if to protect him and T’Challa makes to stand. His mother cuts him off and meets N'Jadaka halfway.

The Queen Mother’s silhouette blocks T’Challa’s view so he cannot see the man’s face. His cousin speaks first.

“Hey, aunty. I just need a minute with my cuz here.”

His flippancy makes T’Challa’s blood boil. That is not the proper way to address the Queen Mother. His mother’s response in turn is curt, walking the line of disrespect.

“My son needs to be attended to. He will seek you when he is healed.”

She does not address her nephew as king.

There is a moment where T’Challa thinks maybe his cousin will listen. That he will leave and T’Challa will be allowed to collect the pieces of himself.

Instead, his cousin sidesteps his mother and walks to him. His mother lets out a harsh exclamation and Shuri places herself bodily in front of T’Challa. T’Challa fights the overwhelming sense of shame he feels in that moment. He should be protecting them.

His cousin crouches not too far from him. Shuri is now standing between them, tense at a ready stance and uncharacteristically quiet.

“What do you want?” Her voice breaks the silence, pitched low.

His cousin chuckles, his body relaxed yet his low stance still threatening.

“Relax, princess. I come in peace.” N’Jadaka raises his hands, palms up.

“I have to speak to your brother though, iron some things out.”

Shuri begins to respond and T’Challa finally speaks.

“Shuri, give us a moment please.”

His sister looks from him to N'Jadaka. Her reluctance is clear but she steps aside. T’Challa looks to the man who had just defeated him. The man that was now his King. T’Challa humbles himself.

“N'Jadaka, son of N’Jobu, Wakanda welcomes you.” The greeting is simple, for an elder or one of higher rank. Which his cousin now is.

“Yeah… I’m sure y’ll do. Look-” His cousin stops and looks to the side where his mother now stands, her eyes angry and her mouth pressed into a thin line. Nods to her, then continues speaking.

“My original plan was to kill you.” T’Challa’s heart stops, and he sees Shuri move from the corner of his eye. He reaches out a hand to stop her, but N'Jadaka ignores both of them.

“But it’s probably in bad taste to kill someone who’s already tapped out. So here’s what we're gonna do.”

His cousin says the last part slowly, the words a slow drag on T’Challa’s senses.

-:- 2 Days Later -:-

“N'Jadaka—“ T’Challa begins, but his cousin cuts him off.

“That’s not my name.”

They are alone now in the king’s quarters. The formal and informal ceremony seemed to drag for hours, each tribe, with the exception of the Jabari, paying their respects and Wakandans from all over coming to see the new king and his consort.

Wakanda’s new king now moves towards the bathing area of their shared quarters, still fully dressed in traditional dark robes. T’Challa, in contrast, is dressed in a warm dark purple, the paint on his cheeks along with the finery he wears signifying his new role as Prince Consort.

T’Challa follows the man, slowly considering the situation. His cousin has been referred to by everyone thus far as N'Jadaka. It was the name his father, T’Challa’s uncle, had given him. What did he mean it wasn’t his name?

He enters the bathing area and blinks back sleep. The day was mostly gone and it was past the time he usually retired to his quarters. Quarters which were his no longer in light of his cousin’s own command. Customarily, the king and their spouse had separate and shared quarters.

His cousin had made it clear earlier that day while the palace staff had worked, half frenzied to accommodate the new king, that T’Challa would be sharing his quarters. T’Challa knew it was just a way his cousin sought to control him.

The man in question reaches for one of the temperature controls in the bath area, curious as he turns the spherical dial. In response, water quickly fills the large wash tub in the center of the bathing area. T’Challa watches his cousin manipulate the controls, mildly impressed with the man’s ability to understand and use Wakandan technology without instruction or assistance. He tapers down the urge to take control and set the water and bath for the man himself.

He too wished to bathe. Wash off the body paint and the day’s sweat, then sleep. But first he needed to make something clear to his cousin.

“Erik…?” he tries again. His cousin doesn’t respond, attention focused on the filling tub.

T’Challa takes a breath and forces himself to speak.

“I know that we are different people and this situation may not be ideal.” He lets the words hang in the air, then continues.

“But I believe we can work together. I will strive to honor you as my husband and king. I expect the same in turn as your spouse.”

Still, the other man doesn’t respond. Instead he begins to strip, hands pulling up and off the long dark traditional dress. T’Challa stares once again at powerful shoulders and hundreds of scars, heartbeat thudding in his own ears. The calm he had effectively built up over the course of the day evaporates.

The man finally turns to face him, eyes curious with hidden intent.

“Honor… huh.”

He stalks towards T’Challa, face neutral.

“So do I get anything else out of this arrangement? Besides your honor?”

T’Challa can sense a trap, but he doesn’t understand what his cousin is insinuating. Not at first.

His cousin comes closer, and there’s a moment where T’Challa sees the intent behind his eyes. T’Challa takes a step back, surprised at the sudden urge he feels to run. He knows logically there is nowhere to go. This man, his cousin, was now his husband and king.

His duty is to N'Jadaka, to Wakanda. To Erik if that is the name the man prefers. He will not run. No matter how much the man scares him. T’Challa tries to speak, say something in response, but stops short, closes his mouth and looks away instead.

“Why so shy, all of’a sudden?” T’Challa startles at the sudden closeness, turning towards the man’s face and away. He can feel the man’s breath close to his cheek.

“N'Jadaka, please—“ T’Challa knows he’s said the wrong thing when the man’s hand, strengthened by the heart shaped herb, closes around his throat.

His heartbeat speeds erratically as blood rushes to his ears. T’Challa’s hands move ineffectively to push the man’s arm away. There’s no give, nothing. T’Challa’s strength is considerable, but unenhanced strength is nothing against someone with the powers of the heart-shaped herb. His cousin squeezes once, twice, contemplatively; his eyes are on T’Challa’s lips. T’Challa’s heart sinks.

“That’s not my name, kitten.”

The way he rankles at the epithet is undercut by wariness at the lust T’Challa now senses. That and the violence his cousin’s hands promise if the man is not satisfied.

“Erik, please. There is no need for violence.”

And it would be violent, T’Challa realizes, what the other man wanted from him tonight.

There is no Wakandan law requiring consummation of a marriage.

This is just needless cruelty.

The man releases his throat and his other arm wraps easily around T’Challa.

“I’ll be gentle.” He laughs after, as if telling a joke.

The moment passes and Erik lets go of T’Challa to reach for the jewelry T’Challa still wears.

“Come on, strip, we both need to clean this shit off.” The king’s voice is suddenly brusque as he starts to tug T’Challa’s clothes off.

Gone is the dark rasp that had sent T’Challa’s heart into overdrive and in its place is the now familiar flippancy of the man T’Challa is learning to think of as his King. The man who had called T’Challa’s mother ‘aunty’ and his sister ‘princess.’

The man who would be raping him tonight.

-:-

His cousin goes very quiet after that. It makes parts of Erik giddy and other parts tense, anticipating. T’Challa doesn’t run though. Something which Erik half expects. Not that it would have done any good, but it would have been fun to chase him, bring him down. Erik had beat his cousin without the herb. Now, though? It wouldn’t even be a fight.

When Erik had first met his cousin, he’d been struck by his poise. At the time it had just made him angry to see the son of the man who killed his father sitting so comfortably. But then, despite his privilege and elevation, his eyes had been soft in a way Erik wasn’t really used to seeing. Especially not on someone who was supposed to be a king. He’d expected the man to deny him, expected him to try and send him away. He had not. Erik doesn’t know if their fight would have gone the way it did if his cousin had not told the truth.

If Erik was anyone else, he might have stopped then, might have agreed to work things out all nice and quiet. The council now knew what T’Chaka had done, what Erik’s own father had done. But Erik isn’t anyone else. He’d dreamt about this moment for years, killed for this moment. He couldn’t let it go. Not even for the prettiest king Erik’s ever seen.

The fight itself wasn’t long. His cousin put on a good show. But wasn’t enough. Erik gave the monologue that was his life since his father's death. Erik reached to kill the man who had betrayed his father. The man he had once called ‘Uncle James.’ His cousin surprised him with one last burst of speed, stepping between them. His cousin yielded and begged for the other man’s life, not even his own. Erik let the spears fall.

His father’s betrayer named him King. Erik looked around at the council, to his aunt. He remembered some of what he knew about royal dynasties and how he really should have put that spear through his cousin’s gut. He decided it was probably better he didn’t. Martyrs were bad. Perfectly legal binding contracts on the other hand...

His cousin said yes. Erik started to feel the excitement he knew he should have felt at his victory, but it was instead focused on darker thoughts of the other man. His cousin is an honorable man. Erik could see that in his eyes when he tried to stand, to protect his mother and sister. Erik likes honorable men, they give their enemies chances when they really shouldn’t.

Which is why Erik takes his time. They both need to bathe, there’s no need to rush. He wants to enjoy what’s left of the night.

The man is beginning to radiate fear and while it arouses Erik, he finds he wants more than just fear. His cousin doesn’t need any more ammunition to hate him. Better to let him think there’s something to salvage here. That Erik can be changed.

The man pushes his hands away when Erik reaches for his pants. Erik lets him; he knows where the night is going. He cracks a joke anyway.

“You bathe with your pants on?”

The look the man gives him is scathing. It makes Erik’s dick hard, honestly.

“I can take off my own clothes, thank you.”

He had been using the opportunity of taking off the man’s clothes to feel him up. Apparently, his cousin didn’t appreciate it. Deciding to let him have a moment, Erik turns to the deep-set tub. There are a few vials and containers on the raised platform by the tub, probably soap and bathing salts.

“So what do you like? We’ve got… “

Erik takes a moment to guess the different fragrances. “Fruity, Less Fruity, and… Mint?”

His cousin doesn’t correct him; Erik turns around and the man’s naked back greets him.

His eyes gravitate to the man’s ass, but slowly he moves up. His arousal grows, and he reaches to remove his own pants and underwear, casually moving around his erection. His cousin turns around while Erik’s deciding whether to throw the pants somewhere or actually fold them.

He can feel the man’s eyes on him before he turns his head away. Fuck, tonight’s gonna be fun. Erik fights the urge to smile like a crazy person, or say something that will definitely send his cousin running, and moves to enter the tub.

The water is almost too hot… and entirely perfect. He lets out a groan and adjusts himself under the water.

T’Challa, to his credit, doesn’t wait for Erik to call him over. He watches the man walk to the edge of the tub, a towel wrapped tightly around his middle. Erik waits. His cousin still has the body paint from earlier on his face and body. Unless he wants to sleep with the paint on, he’ll get in the tub. With his new husband.

Husband… Erik considers the new title. The marriage had been necessary. He knows that. A way to consolidate his power and prevent the man’s family from starting shit too soon. They will all pretend to be one big, happy, reunited family for Wakanda’s benefit.

Not that he thinks that will stop his aunt or baby cousin. If looks could kill… well, he would have died during the day’s earlier festivities. T’Challa seems willing enough to play by his rules for now, but Erik has to wonder how long that will last once he starts on the plans he has for Wakanda and the rest of the world.

Erik rolls his shoulders. Thinking about how uncertain the future is annoys him. He refocuses in the present: there is no reason to get ahead of himself. Tonight is important. T’Challa needs to understand who is in charge. Erik knows his cousin is used to calling the shots. It will take time for him to adjust. Erik can be patient, can even be nice, but only if he learns quickly. If T’Challa won’t behave… there really isn’t any reason to keep him alive. Simple.

He feels ripples in the water and watches his cousin submerge himself. There’s a moment where Erik wonders if the man will come back up. He takes a moment to fantasize about how that would play out. Wonders if he would bother attempting to resuscitate the man, or even drag him out of the water, or just leave him for the servants to find. Eventually T’Challa rises, hands cupping his face, water rushing through short hair.

They make eye contact briefly before his cousin turns to the edge of the tub, reaching for a washcloth and the vials Erik had already opened. Erik gets up and makes for the vial he thinks is soap. The man tenses as he draws nearer, but after a moment passes and all Erik does is actually bathe, he relaxes somewhat.

Restraining himself is something Erik knows how to do. His time with the naval academy and later in the military taught him how to wait. Though right now, with T’Challa bathing mere feet away from him, that restraint is tested. He thinks about what would happen if he reached for the other man. Would he fight? Probably. Erik wants him to fight. He wants him to struggle.

The thought heats his blood.

Erik bathes quickly, knowing the other man will probably stall. After getting out of the tub, he goes in search of a towel. Along with the towel, he finds body oil that doesn't irritate his newly heightened senses. He also gets a water-based lube. He thinks about letting his cousin get dressed And decides there’s no point. He’s done waiting.

-:-

T’Challa does not want to get out of the water. His cousin left minutes prior, and T’Challa himself finished the actual act of bathing a while ago. The water is still very warm, though T’Challa’s skin feels clammy and wrinkled.

He thinks back to hours earlier when one of the attendants had offered him an herbal relaxant, no doubt from his mother. At the time, T’Challa had burned with shame and anger at the implication and refused the attendant’s offer. Now he curses his pride. He doesn’t think he will be able to submit to this man.

Throughout their bath, the man had watched him. Thankfully he had not touched T’Challa again, but his presence alarmed T’Challa’s senses to no end. His dull senses. Without the heart shaped herb, he can not sense the sounds and smells of the room the way he used to. He has not felt this powerless since his father’s death. It stings. He can still feel the man’s hands on him, groping him under the pretense of undressing him.

Reluctantly, T’Challa leaves the water, eyes scanning for his... husband. He walks to where he left his clothes folded. His clothes, which are not where he left them. He fights the rising despair, slowly turning to the sleeping area of the king’s quarters. His cousin watches him from the large bed.

“Where are my clothes?” T’Challa asks halfheartedly.

His cousin rises gracefully from the bed, very much naked, and walks towards him.

“Put them away for you. Don’t think you’ll need ‘em.”

By the end of his response, he’s standing right in front of T’Challa. T’Challa realizes he has been steadily moving away from the man when his back hits a wall. Suddenly he feels too hemmed in, overwhelmed. On thoughtless impulse, he darts away. As he moves, the man immediately grabs him, stopping him. T'Challa tries to buck his grasp but Erik is stronger. It's over as fast as it starts, Erik dropping his hands as soon as T'Challa stops trying to run.

Unfortunately, he loses his towel in the scramble. Which was probably his cousin’s intent, he thinks with renewed dread. His cousin drops the towel, turning to face T’Challa, moving slowly towards him again. Now naked, T’Challa struggles to rationalize what is happening, to think of what to do next.

Bast, why won’t the man just let him be?

“Hey, shh, calm down. You’re working yourself up.” His cousin’s face is earnest, soft even as he approaches him again.

As if he is not the source of T’Challa’s distress, as if he will truly stop and allow T’Challa to keep to himself.

T’Challa, on the verge of tears, bites back the urge to scream. He tries again; perhaps his cousin will listen.

“Please.”

Maybe he will allow the night to pass without committing this new violation.

“I do not want this. Erik, cousin. Please.”

He says the words even as he lunges away from his cousin, who catches him easily this time. Thick arms wrap around his own, bringing them both to the ground, and despite his struggling, he finds he cannot buck the other man off. The man's legs work to trap his own and his full weight settles on T’Challa.

His cousin’s scarred flesh presses against his back, the sensation of so many scar marks on his skin sending odd waves through T’Challa. He flinches against the arms restraining him, but there’s absolutely no give. His cousin’s hold is like a steel-vibranium alloy. He can’t move. He can’t think. He can’t move.

After a while, he stops struggling to breath. His cousin is silent, waiting. He becomes more aware of the man’s body when he realizes the warm length at his hip is the man’s arousal.

The panic returns full force and T’Challa bites down on the part of his cousin’s arm closest to his mouth. His cousin’s hold loosens momentarily and T’Challa bucks him off. His victory is short lived, however, because his cousin retaliates faster than he can see with a backhanded slap to T’Challa’s face. His momentary disorientation allows his cousin to pin him once again, this time face up. T’Challa turns his head to avoid seeing Erik looking down into T’Challa’s eyes, sitting on his thighs, pressing T’Challa’s wrists into the floor above his head with each hand.

The force of the slap makes T’Challa’s head spin. He can taste blood, and the side of his face stings with pain. He tenses in preparation for the next blow. When it doesn’t come, he looks up at his cousin, whose eyes are closed. The man seems to be focused on his breathing, as if calming himself. After a moment, his cousin leans down, applying force to the grip he has on T’Challa’s arms.

“Try that shit again and I’mma hit you till yo’ teeth pop off, understand?”

T’Challa does not respond at first and his cousin’s grips tightens. His cousin sits astride him now, his restraining grip painful even as he slowly grinds down on T’Challa. T’Challa can barely feel his hands. Feeling dizzy from the sensation, tears forming in his eyes, he nods. He bites out a strained, “I understand.”

He has no doubt now that his cousin would kill him if he proves too troublesome. A part of him thinks he would have preferred an actual beating to the backhanded slap Erik gave him. Though if his cousin had actually set out to beat him, he could very easily hurt T’Challa irreparably. It was a pointed reminder of T’Challa’s new position beneath his cousin. His duty, for the sake of his family and his nation, to behave and submit, because a fight with Erik would not be a fight at all.

His cousin’s grip shifts but does not loosen even as he hefts T’Challa up from the ground where they’re sprawled.

The disorientation of being carried makes something in T’Challa snap. He lets his body go limp. Erik drops him face up on the bed. T’Challa doesn’t try to move away. His tears are coming in earnest now.

“Aww, don’t cry,” his cousin coos at him, laughter in his voice as he climbs onto the bed himself. He draws T’Challa closer, straddling T’Challa’s thighs, leaning forward and pressing their torsos together, one forearm across T’Challa’s collarbone.

“Look.” His cousin pulls his chin to face him. The man’s voice is firm, all playfulness gone.

“This doesn’t have to hurt. I could make it good for you.”

Erik’s face is earnest even as his hands trail all over T’Challa’s body. The dissonance makes T’Challa’s incomprehension even worse. His cousin has already shown him how useless it was to struggle, to resist, to beg. Now he’s taunting him with his own helplessness? His cruelty pains T’Challa. How can he not understand? How can he not care? How can he be aroused by T’Challa’s fear? His tears?

His cousin’s left hand goes to T’Challa’s cock, which is lying soft between them. His hand is gentle even as T’Challa’s mind reels from the contact. He remembers his cousin’s hands around his neck and he wants to push the man’s hand away.

“Just need you to relax. Fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

The words prompt another slow grind down against T’Challa’s body. T’Challa’s mind rebels once again even as the man’s words fill his head. Slow and syrupy.

“Don’t think too hard, just feel. Lemme take care of you.” The deep rasp in his cousin’s voice is back.

Involuntarily, T’Challa cock starts to react. The man’s hand is warm and sure on T’Challa’s cock. Soon, T’Challa’s own precome slicks his cousin’s hand and his slow strokes grow faster. Erik’s voice is a warm ocean of dark encouragement.

“That’s right, just feel it. Let it happen. Yeah, just let it happen. Just go with it. It’s happening anyway, just go along with the ride. Yeah.”

T’Challa’s hips stutter with the motion of his cousin’s hand, and his face flushes.  
He doesn't want this. He knows arousal does not mean consent. Still, he really, really wishes his body could remain stoic to his cousin’s words, his touch.

Erik’s other hand trails T’Challa’s body. Down his torso, his hips, to massage T’Challa’s ass.

“You ever play down here?” Erik’s question breaks the haze T’Challa’s settled into. His cousin presses a testing finger at his hole. T’Challa tenses even as the man’s hand on his cock slows to tortuous levels.

“Don’t get shy on me now, you were making such pretty noises.” T’Challa’s whole body flushes with embarrassment, thick, hot shame overwhelming the pleasure his cousin is now wringing out of his cock.

“Answer my question, kitten: you ever play down here?” This time his cousin’s finger presses harder, and T’Challa moans in surprise and pain. He can taste blood in his mouth from earlier when he finally nods his head in assent. The hand around his cock increases its pace in lewd reward for T’Challa’s honesty.

“Really? Huh, guess I don’t gotta be so nice.” His cousin’s words are undercut by something else. Something dark.

The hand around his cock withdraws and T’Challa moans at the loss. His cousin chuckles in his ear, that same hand coming up to push into T’Challa’s mouth.

“Taste yourself for me.” The words coupled with the way Erik forces his way into T’Challa’s mouth, disregarding T’Challa’s attempt to twist his head away, makes the heat in T’Challa’s belly even hotter.

“Aight, I need to prep you though, this ass is mine.” T’Challa blinks, the words filtering slowly. His cousin withdraws his hand, moves up and away from him, reaching for a container T’Challa recognizes to be lubricant.

T’Challa thinks about moving away, but fear and something else he doesn’t really want to examine keeps him stationary. He pushes himself up to kneel and looks down at his own arousal, jutting out and towards his cousin. He watches his cousin pour the lubricant on his fingers and the heat in his belly grows. His cousin looks up and shoots him a feral grin.

“Fuck, I’ll come all over your face next time. Just wanna fuck you now, though.”

The thought of a next time, and his cousin’s cum on his face, sends a jolt down T’Challa’s spine. His cousin will not be satisfied by just doing this once. He will do this again. T’Challa will never be safe.

His cousin’s smirk grows into a full smile, his words dark and teasing.

“You like that? I’ll even let you choke on my dick first.”

T’Challa turns his face away, mind rejecting the words even as fear for himself keeps him compliant. Erik reaches for him, bodily dragging him back into his embrace. This time he settles T’Challa in his lap with T’Challa’s legs straddling his thighs, chest to chest.

“Come on, spread your legs, know you want to.” T’Challa unthinking responds, then understanding strikes and he closes them again.

Erik laughs, one hand coming up to grope T’Challa, pinching his nipples, the other pushing between his thighs to cup his balls. When Erik’s hands trail behind his balls, T’Challa tenses.

“I’ve never --” T’Challa surprises himself by speaking, thoughts forming words and articulating things he really shouldn’t be admitting. Not to someone who is so intent on humiliating him. Though a part of T’Challa hopes his cousin will have mercy. He didn’t expect the man to stop, not anymore. But T’Challa is cognizant at least of how much this will hurt if his cousin wants it to.

“You’ve never what?” Erik’s hand is back on his cock, and the sensation, his body pressed against T’Challa’s, and his words make T’Challa dizzy with emotions he doesn’t want to feel.

“I’ve never -- with a man before.” The last part T’Challa says quickly. Why is he telling his cousin this?

“So you’re still a virgin here?” His cousin punctuates ‘here’ by pressing a lubed finger into T’Challa.

T’Challa nods into a moan. His cousin’s finger doesn’t hurt. This doesn’t have to hurt. If it doesn’t hurt, T’Challa can submit. He can be the shamefully needy creature his cousin is turning him into.

“That’s right, go with it.”

Erik’s fingers work him open slowly. The hand that’s been groping him comes down to tug at T’Challa’s cock. The feeling of someone else’s fingers inside him, someone else’s hand around his cock, it’s overwhelming.

“That feel good?” His cousin’s voice makes T’Challa clench. His cousin groans and gives a few lazy pumps of his fist.

“Fuuuck, think you could come on my fingers?” His cousin groans in his ear even as the hand on his cock moves faster, the fingers inside him pressing and holding against a bundle of nerves, and T’Challa sobs in response. The feeling is so good it’s painful. Distantly, T’Challa starts to feel his climax build.

“So fuckin’ tight, think you’re ready for my cock, yea? Wanna open you up proper, make you scream."

T’Challa can’t breathe around his tears. His arousal rises and rises, then crests. He comes to the feeling of his cousin’s fingers around his cock and in him. His cousin doesn’t stop though, fingers stretching T’Challa wider even as T’Challa’s cum pools in his hand.

“Shh, shh, it’s almost over just lemme in. Yeah… spread those legs for me, fucking slut.”

Erik smears T’Challa’s cum on his body, his face, even pushes some into his mouth.

T’Challa’s body trembles at the word ‘slut, and he flinches away from the hand smearing at his face, but his cousin doesn’t give him time to react, turning to push them both down on the bed, spreading T’Challa’s knees apart even further.

T’Challa blearily feels his cousin’s cock press against the outer ring of his anus before it starts to slide in. It hurts. His cousin slides in quickly, pushing deeper until he’s almost buried completely, his balls resting against T’Challa’s taint. T’Challa’s never felt this full before and he clenches mostly involuntarily around his cousin’s cock.

His cousin lets out a groan, long and low above him, otherwise still, giving them both time to adjust.

His tears renew from the pain of the stretch. It simply hurts.

After a few moments, Erik slowly pulls out, then thrusts back into T’Challa with strength that punches the breath out of his lungs. His cousin repeats the motion, each time going a bit deeper, growling all sorts of filth in T’Challa’s ear.

"Nobody's ever touched you enough, I can tell. Nobody ain't ever touch you right, kitten. I'mma show you just how good it is — don't give a fuck if you let me. I'm ya king now, cuz. I own you. You're mine."

Pain and pleasure mix and all T’Challa can do is take it.

At some point Erik switches angles, pushing T’Challa’s knees up to his abdomen and hitting that bundle of nerves that makes T’Challa sob with pleasure.

Then Erik slows, fucking into T’Challa gently like they are lovers, all the while murmuring all manner of filth.

"Fuuuuck yeah, shit, keep on screamin', kitten, ain't nobody gonna help you — I'mma kill any motherfucker who even tries—”

His dark words push T’Challa over the edge and he’s coming again in thin spurts all over his stomach, clenching uncontrollably around Erik’s cock. Erik gives one last deep thrust, then stills, and T’Challa is filled with cum.

T’Challa’s thighs lock around Erik’s hips as Erik’s hold relaxes around him. Erik whispers almost lovingly in his ear, “Damn, cuz, so fucking wet for me. This is all you're ever gonna be good for now. My fucking cum dump.”

T’Challa’s whole body flushes with heat and mortification, but he doesn't try to move away when Erik pulls gently out. A part of him knows the man is not yet done. He watches the man lean down, not understanding what he intends until he feels fingers once again at his entrance. Slowly, those fingers press the mess of leaking come back inside him.

-:-

Hours later, T’Challa wakes up to pain in places he is not accustomed to feeling pain and a bruising headache. Confusion washes over him briefly before clarity comes. He knows now that his body rests in a room that was once his father’s, alongside a man who is now his husband. Now his king.


End file.
